


glass heart

by surprisedbacon



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, M/M, Mimes, non-sexy tentacles, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisedbacon/pseuds/surprisedbacon
Summary: wilson and wes find each other, in the middle of a cursed, dangerous world ruled by a dangerous man. will they survive? will their relationship blossom into something? or will they simply shatter?
Relationships: Wes/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Kudos: 23





	glass heart

Wilson burst through the bushes, twigs sticking out of his hair and spitting leaves. He looked over his shoulder, making sure none of the small arachnids were chasing him.  _ Damn spiders. At least I made it out. _ Letting out a tired chuckle, he ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, feeling it pop into its pristine, three-pointed shape once more. He sighed with exhaustion.  Only when he stopped to look around did he realize the peculiarity of the place. The area was flat, with stone squares, and-  _ ugh _ , those  _ horrendous  _ Maxwell statues. He dug out his pickaxe from his pack and began hacking away at the base.

Wilson mined the first one for a couple minutes, tearing it down. As the statue neared its’ final chunks, a squad of Clockwork monsters appeared out of seemingly nowhere. He jumped and quickly unslung his spear from his back.

The Bishop sprung forwards, running menacingly towards him with the heavy clank of metal on stone. Wilson huffed, and dashed to the right as the machine ground his direction. A quick stab to the “neck” left a gash in the metal, exposing wires and leaving sparks flickering in the hollow of the body. However, he had no time to celebrate his victory, as the Knight leaped at him with an equally ear-piercing shriek. The scientist just gripped his spear tighter, and readied himself for the fight.

{ … }

Holding his bloodied arm, Wilson dragged himself forward, each step bringing him more pain. Bits of metal debris stuck out of him like needles on a porcupine, digging in deeper with his movement. He saw no other current threats (besides the oncoming of the night) and sat down wearily. He quickly threw together a campfire, wincing with the effort, and felt himself feel a bit better with the roaring flames to keep him company in the darkness. Slowly,  _ slowly _ , he extracted the metal from his body and slathered a makeshift honey poultice on each wound.  With an exhale of relief, he pulled out a rather wrinkly bedroll from his pack and laid it nicely on the ground. As he lay on his back, the cracking logs keeping him company, he began to think on the peculiarities of this place.

_ Why were there statues here? Why did they summon the Clockwork pieces? Are they guarding something, or is it simply a trap? Or perhaps just another painful obstacle in this damned world?  _ He snorted silently.  _ Wouldn’t be surprised, that Maxwell. Always looking to make it difficult, eh? _

With every thought came a wave of exhaustion, and soon these thoughts led him into a troubled sleep.

{ ... }

Wilson shook himself awake. His sleep was never particularly good here. He groggily began to pack his things back into his backpack, and by the time he slid his spear over his back, he was fully awake. He continued to wander through the strange area he seemed to be in. Looking left and right, he saw more Maxwell statues ( _ damn those statues! _ ) and-

is that-

a  _ person _ ?!

He rushed over to the figure, their features becoming clearer with every step. Messy black hair, equally dark lipstick, dabbed-on smudges of rouge on their cheeks; a loose red overshirt was worn over a form-fitting black long sleeve, white gloves, with high-waisted ebony pants and shoes to match.

Another person? Even stranger, a...  _ mime _ ?

Wilson shook his head in disbelief. “Maxwell!” He called out, voice splitting on the second syllable. “This isn’t funny!”  _ Though I’m sure if this is something you’ve conjured up, it must be  _ _ very _ _ funny to you. _

From a scientific point of view, it didn’t look like a prison. In fact, there seemed to be nothing at all holding them in, except for the fact they seemed to be leaning on some sort of invisible wall. He walked up to the stranger, somewhat in a daze. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw another human face.  _ Especially  _ one that attractive.

...wait, what?

That was out of nowhere. Surely, Wilson chided himself, those thoughts were simply from the lack of human contact, not because they looked... like  _ that _ .

The person inside turned to face him, and their face lit up with pleasant surprise and extreme delight. They waved a gloved white hand.  Wilson slowly waved back, stepping closer. “Hey there,” he said cautiously, still not 100% sure this wasn’t a trick. “I’m Wilson. What’s your name?”

Instead of replying, they simply kept smiling brightly and waved their hands in a way Wilson didn’t understand. Upon receiving a blank look, they pointed three fingers up in the shape of a ‘W’. They then put their hand in a sort of fist shape, but their fingers rested on top of their thumb instead of over it, like a normal fist would. A pause, and then another fist-like symbol, but this time with the thumb resting on top of all the other fingers. The figure nodded quickly, as if saying “ _ you get it? _ ”

Wilson just stared. “I, uh... didn’t understand anything except the ‘W’ part.” He shrugged apologetically at the person, a grimace on his face. “Sorry. Uh, are you trapped in there...? Actually, that’s a dumb question, don’t answer that, if you weren’t you’d probably have left already.” With his right hand, he reached forward as if to touch the mime. His fingers met a smooth wall that felt sort of like glass, but nothing seemed to be there. “Invisible walls, huh...” The scientist part of his brain began to think. “Surely, these walls can’t stand on their own. That doesn’t make sense, though a lot of things don’t make sense in this world, but I’m just going to assume this needs power.” He spotted a thin violet crack in the forcefield, thinner than a hair, and he looked at the broken remains of the Maxwell statues. Looking at the rest, he suddenly understood. 

He quickly turned back to the figure and explained his plan. “Okay, well, one of the statues are down, so that must mean your prison is getting weaker, I’m going to go and take out the other ones. Stay put here! I-I mean, I guess you can’t go anywhere else, so I- you know what, I’m just going- to go...” he pointed at the nearest statue with his thumb. With an awkward chuckle, he spun on his heel and walked briskly to the statue, feeling his face burn.  _ Smooth, Higgsbury, you bumbling idiot. No interaction with people and suddenly you lose all your social skills. _

Behind him, the mime silently giggled at Wilson’s retreating back. He couldn’t suppress the bubbling in his chest- perhaps, finally,  _ finally _ , today, he would be freed. Freed from his invisible cage, from a life of solitude and pain. He watched him hack away at the next statue determinedly, admiring his dedication and strength. Despite the scientist being shorter than him, he was stronger than he looked. He watched as Wilson took down each statue, defeated each Clockwork monster, and managed to survive the whole feat.

Of course, this whole interaction didn’t stop time. Wilson had only one and a half statues left, but the oncoming darkness made him rush back to the imprisoned mine.  A big campfire was built near the prison, but its resident could feel no warmth through the invisible walls. Wilson, however, seemed to be enjoying himself (well, as much as he could have, considering he was an inch from death and extremely exhausted). He rested a few bunches of berries and a chunk of meat by the fire, waiting for them to cook. While they roasted, he tried to get a better look at the prisoner.

_ He looks... quite frail, honestly. He’s thin as paper, and about as white as one too.  _ But something about the dark lipstick and the smudged rouge... Wilson’s mind tumbled deep, bringing visions of smeared black kiss marks on cheeks, gloved hands gripping his shoulders, black-clad legs resting on his lap, hot breath on his ears and neck and into his mouth...

His train of thought was broken by the mime waving at him frantically, concerned by how red his face was getting. As Wilson snapped out of his trance, he flushed with embarrassment as he looked into the eyes of the one who he just had such unprompted thoughts about. He watched as the other point at his fire repeatedly, and cursed when he saw his food had overcooked. Grumbling, Wilson threw them in his mouth anyways, tearing a chunk of blackened meat off a bone. His face grew hot, and not just from the fire. Flustered, he turned his back to him, determined not to let him know what happened. He smacked himself in the head a couple of times, for good measure. _ Stupid Wilson, thinking such inappropriate things about a man you just met! Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

The mime just watched in mild confusion, but decided not to react. He watched Wilson unpack his bedroll and furiously burrow into it, covering himself completely with the furs; he could only imagine the heat inside there. As he saw Wilson’s figure settle and un-tense, he sat himself down in his box and leaned against one of the walls. The space had never really been big enough for him to truly lay down, but at least he could sit and stretch every so often. He settled, cradling himself, and they both nodded off to sleep by the sparking fire.

{ ... }

The mime awoke with a jolt, the sound of metal hitting stone ringing in his ears. The half statue was now gone, meaning a fight must have gone on while he slept. He looked to the fire from last night, which now had the semblance of a small camp; a tent was set up, and the campfire was now lined with stones. Wilson himself was far off, destroying the last of the statues with sweat dripping from every pore in his body.

Wilson wiped the sweat from his forehead, not completely mining the last statue down. He needed to catch his breath before taking down the last of the Clockwork monsters. He glanced at the invisible prison, and waved when he saw the inhabitant was awake. “Good morning!” He shouted while waving. “Apologies if I awoke you! I was going to wake you so you didn’t have to wake up to-“ The scientist gestured vaguely at the debris. “-this, but you looked so peaceful and rested so I tried to work quietly.” Scratching his head awkwardly, he added, “Guess it didn’t work though, sorry.”

Wilson was mildly surprised when the response he got was a sort of “don’t worry about it” gesture. He, himself, wouldn’t have been the happiest about being forcibly awoken to sounds of mining, but the mime was peculiar enough already. He shrugged back, flashed a thumbs-up, and began to chip away at the Maxwell statue again.

{ ... }

His spear clattered to the ground, broken but having served him well. Hot air escaped Wilson’s mouth, breathing heavily as the last of the Clockwork monsters ground to a halt and smashed to gears and debris on the ground. He looked at the mime in the box, seeing purple cracks spread on the surface, and ran towards him. Ignoring the pain in his arms, he shoved a shoulder against the forcefield, and the man inside began to do the same. Each shove added a new spiderweb of cracks, the purple lines spreading, running as if on a silent race to the edge. With a final hard shove, the surface shattered into millions of tiny pieces of glimmering purple, disappearing in the air.

The mime crumpled to the ground. “Shit! Are you okay?” Wilson cradled the other in his arms, picking him up and laying him down on the bedroll. When he heard the sharp intake of breath, he exhaled in relief; he was breathing, he was alive.

When he was asleep, the white-painted features seemed to soften, the tension flowing away. Wilson looked at his lithe form, wrapped in furs, watching exhales leave the other’s black-painted lips. He smiled- and stoked the fire a little higher that night.   
  
{ … }

Maxwell lounged on the Nightmare Throne, grumbling.  _ That wasn’t supposed to happen. _ The mime should have disappeared, not escaped his stupid box of his. Shouldn’t have been taken care of, comforted, allowed to live. He clenched his fists, gripping the cold handles of the Throne tightly.   
  
The gramophone kept blaring its stupid song, almost taunting him. The first thing Max would do the second he was freed would be to destroy that accursed thing.

  
He growled, but did nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i don't like writing fight scenes? lmao. anyways, thanks for reading! leave comments for suggestions or improvements! <3
> 
> tumblr: enbygensart.tumblr.com


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